Written by Esther Omoye
Today’s the first time I’m picking my
grandfather’s smile off his portrait
I lean forward in the dirty light and
I recognise it as a sort of learning;
warning or a welcome
A rescue boat and a torpedo at once
I run toward the leftover glow in the sky
pink fading to purple where the sun recently
descended;
I place my hand in his open hand
careful not to touch his skin
He turns sideways there, so his
smile withdraws and he tucks it
back in the clear pocket where it lives
old plaid trousers and the passage of time
Until he dissolves into full-on hysterics
for everyone to hear like old times again